Destroyers
by elenathehun
Summary: Malak and his god. He has sacrificed much on the alter of ambition... [pre KotOR]


"**Destroyers"**

When Malak was seven years old, he met a Jedi for the first time. The Jedi wasn't human – she was a Twi'lek woman, young and beautiful and _strong_, and Malak instinctively understood that she had _power_. People looked at her first when she entered the room, they strained to hear her low, melodic voice, they fought to attend to her. They _loved_ her, because she was everything they wanted to be, everything they admired, everything they wanted, and even then, Malak had wanted people to follow him. Even then, he had understood that shaping the world meant you had to shape yourself into the best you could be.

Malak followed the Jedi woman around constantly, trying to understand her secrets, but a few months after she'd come to his world, the other Jedi came and killed her, and when they left, they took Malak with them. He had a gift, they said. A gift for Light. A gift that could change the galaxy.

Malak left his family willingly in search of power.

_swswswswsw_

He admired Revan, looked up to her. When he met Revan, she was just a girl whose only talent was her undeniable charisma. Like the first Jedi young Malak had met, Revan was beautiful and young and strong, and people wanted to be near her. They wanted to follow her, they wanted to hear her, and most of all, they wanted to remake the world in Revan's image. Malak wanted that too.

But Malak wanted still more to _be_ Revan, or to have Revan's power over people. So for ten years, years spent mastering the Force, mastering the sword, mastering _himself_, he watched Revan. Malak learned many things from her, but most important of her teachings was the value of speech. You could weave an entire universe with words; use it to bind people to you, to your ideals.

And once they believed you, they would do _anything_ to validate that belief. Malak saw that first-hand, when Revan convinced a hundred Jedi – an entire sector outpost! – that the war was too important, and too many people were dying. Only _they_ could defeat the Mandalorian barbarians…

The most Malak was able to persuade was ten at a time. Speaking was never easy for him.

_swswswswsw_

But it was only during the war that Malak understood the power of horror and atrocity. It was not Revan who taught him this, but a young Jedi General and her...unorthodox methods. He remembered Eres III and the burning, and he remembered Dxun and the blood. He even remembered Dagary Minor and Taris and a dozen other battles where only one side emerged from the bloodbath – she'd killed everyone else.

In some ways, she was the apotheosis of everything he'd ever wanted. Beautiful and controlled, she could convince hundreds of otherwise sane, intelligent men and women to create weapons of unbelievable destruction – and was just practical enough, just _vicious_ enough to use them. He'd walked across whole planets littered with the bodies of the dead, steaming and smoking from the fires she'd started.

There is something of awe in the fear and terror of a descending horror, something of worship in the way thousands of enemy soldiers looked upon her visage. In the very act of living, she showed the power of fear and of death.

He was half in love with her, right until the end.

_swswswswsw_

But it is only now that he understands the nature of power. It is only now that he steps out from the shadows of the women who have dominated his whole life. The first Jedi is dead, and the General is exiled, and Revan…he has spent far too much time following Revan. Now was the time to put _his_ vision of the galaxy into words, now was the time to show the galaxy how the future is going to _be_. 

And now, in front of thousands of soldiers, here in the Unknown Regions, in the core of a weapon of unimaginable power, Malak sacrifices himself for his ambition.

He cut his jaw off. 

There was blood, but it was easily staunched. More importantly, whispers were spreading among the Jedi and soldiers, horror and awe and disbelief rising as he tossed his jaw into the Forge and activated it. Malak knows that in the coming days, this tale – this indelible image – would spread like an insidious plague. He knows that from now on, people will look at him and see many things, but mostly, they will see this last act of belief and sacrifice.

He is strong; he is controlled; he is unafraid. He is an avatar of blood. He may not be able to speak anymore, but he can act.

He may not be able to create, but he can destroy, and that is all he has ever wanted.


End file.
